Amnesia Vu
by PuzzleRaven
Summary: I think I've forgotten this before... Hunger, pain, fire. A glass cell. He just has to remember who he is, why he is there, and get the hell out. AU. After Prototype 1. Discards 2.
1. Awakening

**Amnesia Vu**

 _ **I think I've forgotten this before...**_

 _"Do you suffer from long-term memory loss._

 _...I can't remember." Chumbawumba, Amnesia._

Amnesia

Fire

Pain

Hunger

The first thing to return was sensation. A flood of something, repairing, replenishing losses, the hollowness filling slightly. Then it was gone. It wasn't enough. Instinct returned, instinct that registered something nearby, dimly, moving to it, gripping it, devouring it. Blind flailing found the next. And the next...

Slowly, blinding hunger near-saitated, thought began to return. Confused, he reached up to rub his eyes. He couldn't find them. His hand didn't seem to want to move. There was a vague awareness of ground under him.

Stand up, dammit. Somehow he found a foot, then the other, tried to straighten from the crouch, unsure why it was so difficult. His balance shifted as his weight adjusted oddly and he lurched to the side before he could stop himself. What he caught himself on must be a hand, and those were feet under him, so if he pushed his weight backwards he should be standing up. He guessed he was. He felt higher, less of himself pressed against the ground, though it would be so easy to let go and just slump. He refused, angry at himself for being so weak.

Impatient, he forced his eyes open, and suddenly sight and sound returned, wavering dizzily as the world snapped into pieces around him. He blinked, trying to clear his sight, as the sound dulled to manageable levels. Reaching up to rub his eyes he froze. A mass of writhing black tendrils squirmed and shifted in front of him, blurrng as he watched, forming into a sleeve and then a hand. It was definitely his hand, he knew the scar he had got when, when...it was his hand because it was attached to him and he could move it. He flexed it experimentally as his vision cleared, trying to dismiss the vision as hallucination.

"Now you've eaten do you feel better?" a distorted voice asked chirpily out of nowhere.

"What?" He looked up, saw nothing beyond the glass wall in front of him. It was dimly lit on his side, but the lights beyond were completely out. Only his blurry reflection stared back.

"Are you feeling better?" the voice asked insistently. He looked at his hands, looked up, saw the world beyond fade into oranges and reds, figures moving.

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?"

There was a pause and then a response equally heartfelt and unhelpful.

"Oh. Fuck."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Okay." The voice - male, vocal modulator, the thought drifted up - sounded as thrown as he felt, but whoever it was rallied quickly. "What do you remember?" He thought about it, trying to reach for memories or skills. He still knew how to speak, he had language skills, so he had not forgotten everything, but his personal life - fire, pain, blackness. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Where am I?" No sense telling anything to people who seemed to have him locked in what looked suspiciously like a cell.

"You're back on base, recovering." There was no pause, no sign the man was lying, as he pressed on. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing." One of the orange shapes moved and there was the fuzzy noise of someone covering a microphone. He strained to hear and the words became clear.

"- have been that bomb."

"Could asset D help?" Four people he guessed, and one sitting down behind a console, probably the one talking to him. Two more shapes stood to the side, probably guarding a door out. Seemed he had heat vision as well as whatever the fuck his hands had turned into.

"I'll put the request in." One of the figures walked to the entrance. The shape leaned back to the desk and the microphone voice resumed, shockingly loud before his hearing adjusted.

"OK. This must be a shock to you, but we need you to stay calm."

"I want answers." His voice was nearly a snarl.

"OK. The short version is that you're a US military asset." His eyebrow raised under the hood. That did not sound right. "You're on a U.S. army base. You sustained severe injuries in the field from an I.E.D. We didn't know how well you'd recover."

"A military asset," he said in disbelief. "A soldier." Grimy jeans, a leather jacket, this wasn't a uniform.

"Not quite." The voice sounded uncomfortable and he could see the silhouette glancing to a figure behind it for instructions as the microphone fuzzed again. He didn't give them time to receive it..

"If I'm an injured soldier, why aren't I in a hospital?" He saw a head shake and shrug from the watching figure. The person leaned back over the microphone.

"It's...complicated..." The man, if he could tell through the metallic speaker tones, sounded doubtful and uncomfortable.

"What's going on? Tell me!" He lashed out at the glass, expecting his fist to bounce. Instead there was a grating squeal like fingernails on a blackboard. He stepped back, staring at his hand. Foot-long black claws extended, flexing as he tried twitching the fingers they had replaced. Hooks and spines grew out below it, covering the arm to the shoulder, where they blended impossibly into his jacket. He touched the join with his unchanged hand, felt the smooth blending. His jacket was a weapon? No, that was not right. He tried to pull the sleeve back on his good arm without cutting himself on the claws, watching amazed as the claws flowed back into fingers, a hand, a sleeve. He turned the cuff back, saw it was cosmetic. Inside the sleeve, after an inch or so of fabric, the material merged into his arm. It should have been disturbing, but somehow it felt right.

"What the hell am I?" he asked aloud, not expecting a useful answer. In his head he focused on a much more interesting question: what could he do? He could work with this, do more than he had, he knew. If they expected him to be angry and off-balance, playing along would get answers. Then he'd know what answers they wanted him to have and he could start working on getting the real ones. He smacked the glass again, set it vibrating. "What the hell is this?"

"Like I said, complicated." That wasn't helpful. How could personal memories be gone but his skills, basic knowledge be there if he reached for it? Muscle memory, he recalled vaguely, memories stored in the muscles from repetitive movements. Was that what his claws were? He felt more comfortable when they were out, though the watchers seemed discomforted. Screw them. He was the one in the cell.

###

 _"This may have been a stroke of luck. Move asset D to a secure area. We need to control the information flow."_

 _"Understood, sir."_

 _"Can we keep it under control? It has an I.Q. off the charts. Several of its component personalities were rated at over two hundred individually."_

 _"It can't access them. Intelligence is only as useful as the data it has to work with. Right now it has none."_

 _"Then let's make sure it stays that way."_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He began to pace, measuring out his cell with his steps. Twenty paces long, half that wide, and twice as tall as he was, if he guessed right. Glass walls rose on all sides, a huge rectangle, with the floor and ceiling of the same material. The whole cell seemed to be suspended a few feet off the ground, with a second smaller section linked by double airlocks at one end as the only entry. He could see nothing outside except his own doubled reflection.

"Why are the lights down?"

"Crap, you really don't remember anything. That's for your comfort. You're nyctophilic." His comfort or because with one side in darkness and the other lit he could not see out. If they thought that, they didn't know he had heat vision.

"Yeah, that's why I'm the only thing lit up." There was a moment when one soldier tried to stop the one that stood up.

"Ok." He could hear the soldier's shrug, footsteps, and the flick of a switch. The lights were too bright, and he flung up a hand, lowering his head to let the hood shadow his eyes as they adapted. Raising his head slightly, no sense letting them know how fast he actually adjusted, he took his first conventional look at the room outside.

Unpainted concrete bunker walls, forty feet high, with strip lighting in the ceiling. The door at the side was where he'd expected, narrower than he thought. The sentries were standing well clear. Cables were clipped to the walls and floor, running to the console that was the only feature he could see, and the banks of computers behind it.

With the lights up he could see uniforms, details, two distinctly different sets of uniforms. The ones in green seemed to be on edge but the one in black moving back to the console, wasn't. Not an officer, he'd saluted, so a Specialist or another unit. 'His unit' – that thought just felt wrong. He wasn't a team player. Before he could ask, the door opened.

"Turn the lights down. Keep it calm." Another figure entered, black uniform, streak of grey in the hair. Without breaking stride the man hit the lightswitch, plunging the room outside back into reds and oranges, and strode across to the console. Had that bastard just called him 'it'?

"If you wanted to keep me fucking calm, you'd let me out of this goddamn cell!" he snapped, and was ignored. Now closer to the intercom, he recognised the voice as the one who had left, the one giving orders. The other silhouettes stood, saluting. Screw that. "Command says tell him nothing. Let his memories return on their own."

"What!?" He was back at the front of the glass in an instant, glaring at the officer.

"Captain, that's-" the soldier obviously agreed, but was cut off.

"Those are our orders, Private." The man wasn't even addressing him.

"Sir, yes, sir."

"That's bullshit," he said, furious. "They're my memories. I have a right to them."

"There are concerns that if we start forcing recall, the memories will be damaged." He kicked half-heartedly at the wall, knowing the sense of it, and still wanting to kill something.

"So where's my quarters?"

"Maintain total containment until memories return," the officer answered, still not to him.

"Right here." The Private sounded apologetic.

"Oh, fuck that." There was no reply. He began to pace, dragging his claws along the glass, enjoying the reaction from the people outside to the high-pitched grating noise. Odd. There was a roughness to the surface, like embedded wires, and sparks. He didn't know but something nudged him that sparks weren't usual on glass. There was something strange about the material.

"You were hit by the I.E.D. Until we know about long term effects, keeping you under observation is safest." The voice rushed to placate him, and he stopped the noise.

"For you or me?" He was surprised at his own voice, the darker tone that made it a threat.

"Both." So he was being kept in a glass cell under armed guard for his own benefit? Why didn't he believe that?

"Then aren't you going to put a blanket or something in here?" The answer left him blinking.

"You don't sleep."

"I don't sleep?" The stunned incredulousness wasn't feigned. He tried to think back. He could remember snuggling up with his girlfriend/husband/wife/lover/parents/children...He reeled, pressing his hands to his head and the flash of memory was gone before he could grasp it. There was a significant pause beyond the glass as the people moved uneasily before the figure leaned forward to the mic.

"You don't have a bathroom either." The voice was mocking. "Guess why?"

"Fuck off."

"If you do that, the lab boys would love to watch." He was being baited, he knew and the growl rose anyway. He didn't care. "Your sense of humour get blown up as well?"

"Food? Water?"

"Water's not an issue. Or food. You just ate enough for half a platoon."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." He slumped down, back against the glass. He really wanted to kill someone.

###

 _"The lab boys are getting twitchy. They want to get down to the tests."_

 _"Mission first. Once that is complete and we're certain it is stable, then they get the go-ahead. If they push, remind them how much easier a co-operative subject makes things - for the initial stages. After that it won't matter."_

 _"Why wasn't it put in heavy containment when it was retrieved?"_

 _"We didn't think it would survive the experience. It was certainly unexpected that it would regenerate so completely. For now it is quiescent, contained, and obedient. Let's not escalate until we have to."_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He was curled in the far corner of the cage, his head down on his knees, arms covering it. A picture of pitiful dejection, but he didn't care. It was the best place in the cell to hear what was going on. Even with the vacuum between the layers of glass, the frames and fixings transmitted micro-vibrations. Whatever his body was made of, he could amplify them enough to catch snatches of voices from elsewhere in the base.

 _"The subject has never been able to stay still. An hour, two at the most. It is a holdover from the parent entity."_

 _"So why isn't it going stir-crazy in there? There's no stimulus, there should be nothing to keep it focused."_ Under his arm, he frowned. The urge to run, to move, was there when he looked for it, but controllable while he focused on the discussion.

Damn. He needed information, but without them knowing he was listening in. Reacting now would be a giveaway. A colossal overreaction to the first actual stimulus should do it. He grinned to himself. He'd be a poor predator if he could not keep still long enough to spring an ambush.

 _"The Wiseman squad are an obstruction."_

 _"They are the most experienced at dealing with the subject."_

 _"They're grunts. This is politics. They're a liability."_

 _"Agreed, but if it breaks out, they will be needed."_ He growled deep in his throat, muffling the sound. They were going to pay for calling him an 'it'. He wasn't their property. This Wiseman squad sounded interesting. The enemy of his enemy were not friends, but they could be a distraction. In the instant he stopped concentrating he lost the thread of the conversation among the whispers and focused to try to hear more.

 _"- entire lower levels are saturated. If it gets out, it is immediately exposed and then it is either dead or back into containment."_

 _"That seems inadequate. Test runs proved a human out of the cell could reach the helipad in five minutes twelve seconds. The subject would be faster. Estimates are two minutes, fifteen."_ Helicopters? That sounded promising. Memories surfaced: instrument panels, explosions, and a faint inexplicable stirring of hunger.

 _"The helicopters are fuelled down correct?"_

 _"Except our evacuation vehicles."_ He smirked. Target acquired. He must have been a good pilot, or they wouldn't be keeping vehicles inoperative. _"That's need to know, Doctor, and the good Captain doesn't."_ What? Was he a Captain, or were they keeping secrets from someone else? How many Captains were there here?

A door shut off the conversation. He listened, frustrated, catching snatches of words here and there throughout the base.

 _"- we don't have any female personnel. I wasn't going to supply conveniently fitting and face-concealing uniforms for -"_

 _"Containment on non-contiguous entities is difficult. One stray cell and it can re-."_

 _"The existence of a distributed hivemind is purely theoretica-"_

 _"- wasn't much left after the fuel-air bomb. Just glad we had containment. That rocket -"_ His attention piqued. There was a mumble he couldn't catch and he turned his head, pressing more of his surface to the glass. _" -just lucky he hit them first."_

 _"Luck hell. They were closer, more numerous and had weaker weapons. Just lucky he was too hungry to think and doesn't like electrics."_ Fuck. He had a weakness? _"If the Captain hadn't tazed the hell out of him-"_ Now he owed skunk-head pain. _"-if he'd been thinking."_

 _"How? He didn't have a brain."_

 _"So what's new?"_ There was a faint chuckle before the door shut off the sound. When he got out of here he was going to slaughter them all.

The next set of whitecoats came in to do whatever they did by the console. They ignored him, but even so, he had no chance of making out more words as the door closed, the hydraulics' mechanical groan drowning out voices. The soundproofing was good, but not perfect. He needed a way to hear more.

###

 _"Where did you get the extra samples?"_

 _"From cleanup. When the LAW rocket struck containment, several sections were blasted from the already-reduced main mass."_

 _"I would hope all containment protocols were followed in securing it."_

 _"Of course. We merely obtained several samples kept in separate containment. Security and secrecy protocols have been enforced. The retrieving personal have been sanitised."_

 _"Good. Let's keep this a clean op."_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Claws in. Claws out. Claws in. Claws out. Claws-

"Dammit stop doing that."

"I'm bored." He flexed his right arm again, sitting in his corner, watching the blades slide out.

"So count rivets." Claws in. Claws Out.

"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight if you count the hole-" He pointed to the opposite corner.

"Hole? What hole? Shit!" Alarms blared. Both soldiers snatched up weapons, dropping into firing positions as they peered at the cell glass. He didn't move, watching in private amusement as the extra forces rushed in and the two soldiers shouted that containment was compromised. The outside of the cell was surveyed, cautiously, and the two soldiers were left stammering to explain themselves.

The extra troops filed out, glaring at the cell. He glared back, as the two soldiers settled back behind the console.

"Dick," one of them said. He shrugged without getting up. Claws in. Claws out. Claws in. Claws out- "For fuck's sake!"

"Get me a book." He didn't look up, flexed the claws again.

"Not allowed in quarantine. Nothing goes in, nothing goes out-" He smirked. Claws in. Claws out.

"So swing your screen round and put a movie on."

"No chance."

"Fine." Claws in. Claws out. A shame. A film would have drowned out the faint sound of scratching as his hidden left hand worked at the seals of the plexiglass. Otherwise, he just had to time it with the minute sound of the shapeshifts. Claws in. Claws out. He smirked under his hood as someone swore. The frustrated cursing from the guard helped.

 _###_

 _"Director, I am requesting asset D to keep subject A calm until we can resolve the situation."_

 _"Belay that."_

 _"Sir?"_

 _"Interaction with asset D will be unpredictable. It risks a permanent loss of control over events. Keep them separate until the situation has stabilised."_

 _"Sir, if subject A goes out of control, we will not be able to suppress it."_

 _"Then ensure it doesn't."_


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"What worries me?" The soldier's voice was low, but he could hear it anyway. "Heard about a tiger in a cage who just sat in a corner for days. Ignored food, sleep, water. He'd got a little project going on, cutting a hole in the fence."

"Nah. You see anything on the cameras?"

"Wouldn't hurt to take a look."

"So do." The other soldier seemed to find it funny. After a pause the first sat back uncomfortably.

"No need. He's just sitting there."

"Because there's fuck all else to do here!" The volume of his own shout startled him, but he didn't care, crossing the cell in one step to glare at the soldiers. Their guesses had been uncomfortably close. He banged a fist on the glass, setting it rattling. "Either let me out or give me something to do." He turned on his heel, started pacing the length of the cell by the glass, not caring the soldiers were on their feet. Their guns were tracking him, but if they shot him they would break the glass.

"It's like watching a lion at the zoo," one muttered.

"Dare you to limp in front of the cage."

"No. Fucking. Way."

"Fidgety, aren't you?" The words came clearly over the intercom.

"I'm stuck in here." He kicked out again, heard the glass vibrate. Good. It would get their attention off the corner he'd been working on. An alarm went off.

"Report." The word crackled out from the console.

"Sir, we're detecting changes on the monitoring." Shit, they could detect what he was doing? But the claws hadn't drawn a reaction. "The weight panel says the weight is under three hundred pounds. That's below safe levels."

"So feed him."

###

The pig was unsettled in the airlock, walking back and forth beyond the glass.

"What am I meant to do with that?" He stared at the animal blankly as it charged the partition, not even shaking the glass with its impact.

"Eat it," the soldier said in disgusted impatience. "Hell, you went through twenty before you started talking again." He looked at it dubiously. The pig had to be five hundred pounds, and it didn't look non-threatening. "You do remember how you eat, don't you?"

"Just let the damn thing in and let nature take its course." His companion grumbled from behind the monitor, and tapped the button.

"What? Wait!" His claws slid out instinctively as the glass slid open. The pig pawed at the glass floor and charged. His balance shifted sharply, a writhing sensation in his gut. One taloned hand pressed to his torso, found only churning tentacles, no jacket, no top, no flesh, just a writhing black mass that snatched up the screaming animal, digging into it. He stepped back in shock, to find the tentacles, his tentacles, drawn back with him, part of him. As the animal's squeals turned to screams, its body melting into an amorphous lump, the sensation began to feel familiar. He knew how to do this, drawing the melting flesh in on reflex, patching the parts of his body that were worn and damaged with the new mass. There was a sensation of greasy agitation as his insides rearranged themselves. Slowly they settled, became his jacket again. He let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction as the ache inside him reduced. The whole process looked horrible, but he just felt full. He could do this, hell, from what they were saying he had been doing this for years.

"Feel better?"

"It doesn't feel quite...right?" He knew it was true, didn't know why. There was a faint sensation that it had been work, harder than he expected, even if it had felt good. He shrugged, trying to settle the acute awareness of tendrils under his skin still breaking down the last of the pig.

"Tough shit. We're not giving you people."

"People?" he said, stunned as much by his reaction as the news. He should have felt horrified. Instead he felt hungry.

###

 _"And our weapon is finally going to do the job it was made for?"_

 _"We have its core, and its allies. If its memories inconveniently return, we can always kill them."_

 _"The problem with killing hostages is that, eventually, you run out of them."_

 _"Precautions are in place to sanitise the base in that situation. If another ...individual... arises, it might be more tractable. If not, it will already be in full containment."_

 _"And if it isn't, then we sanitise that asset as well."_

 _"Agreed."_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The hearing, the claws, and the…whatever he had just done to the pig. He wasn't human. So what was he? They weren't going to tell him, so he'd have to find out the hard way.

Reforming one hand into claws, he pressed a bladed finger against his other forearm, gritting his teeth against pain as he sliced in. The clothes parted easily as he focused on trying to see what lay under them, inside his shell. He hit resistance halfway through, forcing finger and clawed thumb into the gash, and pried the sides open. The flesh moved obediently, no pain now as it shifted as he wanted. There was no blood, just dark red matter that seemed to be absorbed back into his body as quickly as it seeped. At the base of the cut was something nearly solid, not a skeleton, but black and nearly rigid, moving faintly as he touched it. Not solid or rigid, more like steel cable, a thick rope of intertwined strains too dense to be easily flexible, but with more give than bone.

He held up his hand, focused on unravelling it. The colour changed, the skin splitting into black tendrils that unwound themselves and waved idly until he tried to direct them. Forcing them not to move so he could examine them set his body itching until he gave up and relaxed. It wasn't what he wanted though, it felt like just another shapeshift.

He reformed the hand, grimacing as the tentacles meshed together. Not white bone, red muscle or yellow fat, just black tendrils twining into shape, the surface rippling and recolouring. With an effort he stopped the arm before it fully formed, ignoring the protests he sensed as it cramped. No major muscle groups had formed, just more clumps of that strange material he was made of, growing off and interweaving into one another, sprouting from the sleeve where it ended above the elbow and blending into skin where he'd reformed his wrist. He flexed a finger experimentally, saw the rope-like tendrils move against each other. Putting his hand on the section that moved to hold it still, he tried again, but this time a second group moved and his finger still twitched. Full-fucking-redundancy? Neat.

The elbow joint wasn't a joint, just a place where the thickly-bound core tendrils flattened, with clumps from both sides splitting off above and anchoring on the other side of the join for leverage. Joints would be weaknesses, he guessed, intrigued, lifting his arm and watching the interlaced tendons pull across and through each other.

No blood, no circulatory system to be-

"Wait. How the hell am I breathing?" he said in disgusted frustration, and only realised he'd said it out loud when there was a chuckle from the observation post. He glared, realised he'd given away how acute his hearing was, and stalked to the front of the cell.

"Do you have anyone here who knows how I work?" he demanded. Let them keep guessing about whether he had heard the laugh through the intercom or not.

"I think they're all dead," the soldier supplied helpfully. "Accident with a bio-weapon." There was a private joke in there. He could guess which bio-weapon. He'd killed people? It went with the weapon designation, he guessed, but shouldn't the people who made him have been on his side?

"Convenient," he growled.

"I'll see what we're allowed to tell you. But, if you're going to disembowel yourself to see if you have lungs, wait 'til I'm off duty, OK?" He grinned, extended his claws. "Oh for-"

###

 _"Asset D did not arrive at the alternate containment site."_

 _"What happened?"_

 _"When the convoy failed to arrive, search parties were sent to last location. The convoy was found empty and ransacked. There was no sign of the guards, and we've been unable to locate them."_

 _"This...isn't a problem. Our subject has expressed no interest in asset D. It may not even remember its existence. Issue a termination order on the asset for Blackwatch to enforce. Call the Wiseman squad back. There's no need to...complicate matters."_

 _"And when the subject finds out?"_

 _"By that time it will not matter."_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The new shift of soldiers walked in, relieving the soldiers on duty as per routine but his instincts pricked. There were only two of them. The second the door cut off the sound of footsteps in the corridor, one of them took station behind the console and did something to the controls. A faint electronic whine he hadn't paid attention to cut out, as the other soldier raised the lights and walked up to the cell. He stood, braced, claws ready, as the man spoke, voice distorted by the modulator.

"We've got a few minutes before they catch up. You remember anything else yet?"

"No." He wasn't saying more. Black uniforms, both of them, and somewhat relaxed around him, but trust ended at the cell walls.

"You OK?" The soldier sounded sincere. He looked round the cell.

"You kidding?"

"Not even a 'Fuck off'?" The soldier sounded sceptical, but under that also oddly plaintive.

"I can manage one." To his surprise, the soldier laughed and visibly relaxed.

"You really don't remember anything?"

"No."

"How are you doing?"

"Bored."

"Yeah, I get that."

"What's going on?"

"Wish I fucking knew."

"Tell me." He slid the claws out, but the man didn't react. Was he used to them?

"I don't know that much, God's own truth."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"You're part of our team. We don't leave our own." That was interesting. The greenies and scientists were on edge around him. The black uniforms were tense, but not afraid. Under the masks, were they like him?

"Sounds like I'm popular." The soldier made an odd wheezing sound behind his mask. "We're friends?" That sounded outright wrong.

"No. We - ah - we don't get on." He angled his head, noting the way his steady gaze unsettled the man. "You're friendly. Normally..." The soldier drew a breath. "You're kind of a dick." That was not what he expected from someone who seemed to be on his side. If they were playing 'good cop, bad cop', they sucked at it.

"If I'm military, what rank am I?"

"Affiliated Specialist." The reply came easily, so it was either true, or a practiced lie. Something they didn't mind him knowing.

"What kind of specialist?"

"Killing things." The man's voice carried a private joke even over the intercom, but there was something else.

The doors opened, and the soldier smoothly turned, began a steady inspection of the seams of the glass as if that was all he had been doing. A scientist hurried in, followed by two green-clad marines, and stopped so fast the marines almost ran into him. He looked up from his clipboard and glared at the two black-uniformed troops as the marines hurriedly took station by the door.

"Why are the lights up?" The scientist's question was directed to the soldiers, not him, and annoyance flared.

"Because I asked," he snarled, rising fluidly to his feet. "Unless there's some fucking reason you want me to get irritated." He could see the sudden glimmer of sweat on a forehead, hear the faint clip of a safety catch releasing. All except the soldier in black by the cage, easing backwards to get out of the line of fire – or to cover the other humans. He began to pace, keeping their attention on him as he saw the other black uniform moving a hand surreptiously to the console. The electronic whine resumed faintly. The scientist made a note on the tablet he was carrying, sniffing supercilliously as he walked across to the console. Not sure why he was covering for them, he stared at the black-clad trooper nearest the glass.

"If I'm military, do I rank you?" There was a bark of laughter from outside the cage.

"No, and you can't order me to let you out. Nice try." The soldier was calm, almost bantering. The green-clad marines, the scientists, they were terrified. The refusal to look into the cell, the contemptuous use of 'it', not 'he'. How terrified were they and what had he done to trigger that much –

 _Terror, screaming faces, fire, pain, "Fire in the hole!", a red flower with many heads on a city street_

– he reeled, putting a hand to his head.

"Remember something?" The voice was too eager, the scientist by the console suddenly too tense. He shook his head.

"'Fire in the hole'? I think you shouted it."

"Nah, I don't carry explosives." That answer was rushed, for the first time nervousness showing in the soldier. "But you liked using them." The scientist glared at the soldier, and he took note. Obviously that was something he wasn't supposed to know.

Had it been his memories? He imagined holding one of the anti-tank weapons, his fingers curled automatically into the right shape as his body remembered the weight, the technique. He rubbed his forehead, hand slipping up under his hood, felt the material lift away, tendrils melt away into curly hair.

"Anything else?"

"No." He leaned against the glass, fighting the headache. Something in him started his feet moving, an instinct to pace, to move. His stagger slowly smoothed into a walk, and the whitecoat turned his attention back to the console. The scientist seemed relieved, muttering under his breath as he recorded the console data: his vital statistics. Weight: 450lbs. He turned the stumble in his walk into a roll on reflex, coming smoothly to his feet. He froze. That was…easy. The chat by the console cut out as he reversed the move, misjudged it and his feet adhered to the wall. He took several impossible steps up it. Hitting face-first into the glass ceiling he knocked himself free, thumping flat on his back on the glass floor. The cell shook from the impact.

The scientist was watching, the green uniforms had their guns raised. "Turning the lights up seems to produce a higher level of activity in the subject," the scientist observed drily, but he wasn't paying attention. Curiously, he backed off and took a running jump upwards. Two crazy steps forward across the roof, upside down, before he felt his grip give. Flipping faster than he thought possible, his feet were under him, landing smoothly as the cage rattled. His attention was caught by the whisper from the back, subvocalised.

"Memories back then?"

"I can do that?" he exclaimed, more for the soldiers than the scientist. They knew he could do that. He had not. No wonder they were frightened. A flash of light drew his eye. He bristled, glared at the scientist.

"You filmed me?" He wasn't sure where the anger came from, knew he was being monitored and recorded. The sight of the camera phone still stirred something, and he needed to lash out. The blackclad soldier straightened, suddenly serious.

"We're not permitted to-" the soldier started and the scientist waved a hand dismissively, lowering the phone.

"The great Monster of Manhattan flat on its back in a cage. There's one for the team." The scientist grinned smugly, slipping the phone into a pocket. He felt the anger flare, rushed the glass before he thought. It cracked, starred, sparking, but the outer layer held. Alarms blared as the soldiers ran for cover. The black uniform bundled the scientist to the floor behind the console. Infuriated, he hit the glass again, sending a patter of cubes flying to hit the outer layer, as the doors opened and troops rushed in, weapons aimed at him. The grey-haired Captain followed, a sparking cattle-prod in the hand that did not hold a gun. He snarled, claws extending as memories of pain sparked somewhere in his head.

"Stand down." His least-favourite Captain demanded, and he bristled. "Stand down or I'll put you down." He growled but stood back, body rippling in agitation. There were a lot of guns aimed at him.

"Sir, he went berserk because-" The soldier at the observation post began and he raised his voice over the man's.

"Check his phone," he snapped, pacing, glaring at the scientist. The Captain holstered his gun and held out his hand. The scientist stood, face incredulous and unapologetic.

"Captain, you can't believe what it-"

"Unlock it," the Captain ordered. Reluctantly, the scientist pressed a few buttons. The officer's expression didn't change, even as a pig's audible squeals became screams, as a thud rocked the cage, as he heard himself swear. The Captain gestured once and one of the new arrivals turned and fired a burst straight into the scientist's body. "Dispose of that. Security lockdown. I want a full assessment of every communication that fucker's sent since arrival. Get the escorts into interrogation now. Pick up the family." The soldiers didn't resist as their weapons were taken. The Captain didn't even look at him as he left the room, gesturing back towards the cell. "And repair that. Get tertiary containment deployed."

###

 _"The Wiseman team are entirely too close to the subject. Could they have been compromised?"_

 _"Viral detections say no, but those can't test ideology."_

 _"They won't be required much longer. Our ex-doctor's indiscretion is a perfect reason to place the subject in full isolation. Your progress?"_

 _"The date has been set."_

 _"And the arrangements?"_

 _"Confirmed. Our assets will be out of the country on business. Certain obstructions, however, will be present, if they want to vote down the amendment."_

 _"And the weapon will be deployed and the fallout will be Blackwatch's problem."_


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Monster of Manhattan. Something stirred in his memories, but the harder he strained for it, the more it eluded him. Now he had a clue, even if he didn't have all the pieces yet.

Alone in the cell, he planned. The marines had come in, hastily fitted another layer of floor to ceiling panels outside his glass cage, angling them inwards by the airlock and eying him warily all the while. When they retreated, they turned the lights down as they left. He didn't care. For the first time since his arrival he was alone. He wasn't stupid. They were monitoring him. It didn't matter. He settled into his corner, listening to the voices they didn't know he could hear.

 _"- postcard a lead?"_

 _"No. We investigated. His Uncle Jeff is a highly-decorated Marine sergeant, currently on leave. He started his honeymoon two days ago, and took his new wife to Disneyworld. His wife is navy medical staff. Her identity checks out. We have them under surveillance. Should we liquidate the couple as a precaution?"_ Data they would kill to preserve? He wanted to know it.

 _"No. It would attract more attention than it removes."_ There was a thoughtful pause. _"Damn. I had thought-"_

 _"With all due respect, if the Wiseman were involved with the disappearance of asset D, they wouldn't be that obvious."_

 _"Perhaps."_ The voice picked up. _"Where's the postcard?"_

 _"The Corporal made the Private burn it, sir."_

 _"Removing any chance of getting fingerprints or DNA. I think we're being played."_

" _Do we have any missions that can be used to get his troops off the base and usefully dispersed?"_

 _"Nothing that won't raise-"_ A door slammed, and the conversation immediately ceased. He tried to follow it, to pick up the same smooth, supercilious, voice he'd been hearing. It took time before he heard it again, further away and talking to someone whose voice he didn't know.

 _"-remotely induced necrosis in the samples could still ruin everything."_

 _"But if the virus adapts, we'd lose the Eastern Seaboard in days, the rest of the species soon after."_

 _"It killed five thousand people in minutes."_

 _"We're not looking at something that spawns zombies or has an incubation period. If you are infected you die instantly. It burns out because its speed of transmission is lower than the fatality period on its victims."_ He frowned, not certain he liked the idea of something like that being held on the same base as him. Keeping bioweapons together made sense to an idiot. Eggs and baskets.

 _"If the toxin works, why isn't the virus soaking in a vat right now?"_ He thought the same. Rogue viruses were… a flash of something, maybe memory, flared and was gone.

 _"It was generating resistance. Long-term exposure might render the chemical completely ineffective. Then there's the issue of containing it during transfer. I doubt it will remain passive once it detects the chemical."_ Shit, one closing door and he'd lost track of it the conversation again. Scraping claws against the glass seals to try and help just drowned out what little he could hear. He pressed hard intol the corner, listening.

 _"- got killed. Trusting the toxin after New York–"_ He'd lost track of the conversation in his distraction, strained something inside him trying to hear more.

 _"He was an idiot. Took the subject out of immersion containment and turned off the drip to dissect it. Of course it got up again. It was designed to."_ His claws slid out on reflex. Poisoned and vivsected? Fuck that.

 _"But the residual chemical should have left it half-dead."_

 _"It isn't alive. In hostile conditions it just goes dormant until conditions become more favourable."_ There was a frustrated silence before the other voice spoke again.

 _"How's development proceeding on the revised chemicals?"_

 _"Slowly. The subject's continued evolution is a problem. At the present time, any substance we can dose it with that kills it will also kill a human if the chemical gets under their skin. Fortunately, it has full exposure while our men are equipped with protective gear."_ He growled, quietly furious. Calling him 'it', as if he was a thing, not a person, enraged him, but he'd got something useful from the conversation. If he wanted to get out, he'd need to steal one of their bio-warfare suits. There was no point imitating one. It would leave his surface exposed.

The tentacles had consumed everything they touched. Could he eat just the soldier wearing the gear and shift himself inside it? If not, how fast could he kill and strip a soldier?

He needed to know what he could do before he could really plan an escape, but he also needed information. Splitting his attention, he listened for more information as another part of himself worked on control of his body. A sense that his attention should split more ways distracted him, and he shut it out, irritated. One thing at a time.

 _"-throwing tanks and helicopters-"_ He recognised the soldier's voice, still modulated, and tried to pick up the rest of the conversation. _"- a bad time to lose our heaviest hitter. If he escapes -"_

" _\- insurgents didn't just happen to have high-test peroxide hanging around. That was planned."_

 _"They have substantial backing."_ Even over floors and through glass, he could tell the other soldier didn't believe the words even as he said them.

 _"That doesn't get them the ability and equipment to deploy a highly volatile substance safely in a third world warzone."_

 _"– got a plan, I just can't figure out what it is."_ The sound of machinery as their voices faded blocked his hearing, leaving him with the scraps of everyday life. Uninterested, he put the pieces together. He had two things: The quiet awareness that he could do much more. And the disquieting certainty that these people were not his allies.

###

 _"Deployment methods are complete. The separated samples are in payload suspension."_

 _"Why not sanitise the core colony now?"_

 _"Because we may need more samples."_

 _"Should I take the Captain into custody, sir?"_

 _"No. Any move against him before the mission is complete risks turning eyes in our direction. And he's useful for control of the subject."_


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Without the shift changes, he'd begun to lose track of time, even with the whispers he could hear through the glass. Monitored or not, it was time he got out. He'd only get one shot, so he had to get this right. His right hand, tucked out of sight as he curled in his corner, itched as he began to work.

It didn't much matter that he didn't know where he was going. The scientists and marines were terrified of him, and with a claw in the right place, they'd spill their guts. He only had two major problems escaping, the toxin he'd heard them talk about, and all the bullets. The toxin would require one of those inconveniently hard-to-get bio-warfare suits, if he'd guessed right from what he'd overheard. Bullets were either be immune, or don't get shot at. What was growing on his right palm was a step towards that.

As his experiment completed there was a sudden disorientation and then everything came into focus. His brain must have adapted, growing the extra neurons or whatever. He was watching the eyes in his face watching the eye in his hand. He closed his main eyes, examining his face. So that was what he looked like. It was strangely flipped from the image in the glass. Opening his eyes again, the colour of the palm iris changed from blue to hazel to brown, a man's eye, then a woman's complete with false lashes and garish makeup. If he could shapeshift his whole body like this, escape was possible, even easy.

Footsteps in the corridor echoed painfully loudly. Their sensors must have picked up the changes. He closed his hands, feeling the eye squeeze under his fingers. If he shifted it away now, they would see the tentacles and guess he was working on something. As the door began to open he stayed curled in the corner, hiding his hand inside his jacket as he braced himself to move. Two minutes fifteen seconds to the heliport. He'd have to be faster. His legs tautened, mass compacting ready to run.

A single soldier rushed in, turning to start the door closing before it had even fully opened. He stood up warily as the man approached. Black uniform.

"Winder's looping the cameras. You remember anything yet?" Same question as before. Same voice as before, but a lot more desperate now.

"No." He wasn't saying more.

"Shit." As the soldier swore, he said nothing, just glared at the mask. "I know you don't trust me, but we are trying to help."

"You're on my side? Prove it."

"I can't tell you-" He didn't even let the man finish.

"Come in here." The soldier hesitated.

"That's not a good-"

"Because you trust your teammate." He layered the irony on heavily.

"If you kill me, you'll regret it when you get your memories back." There it was, the excuse to make it seem like he was in here for his own benefit, not theirs.

"Because we're such great friends," he said, sardonically.

"No we're - actually we kinda hate each other." He blinked. That admission was honest, and unexpectedly consistent.

"So why you?"

"We drew straws." The soldier's mask moved, and he could hear the grin it hid. "See who gets to play Russian roulette."

"Rigged?" He smirked, wondering who the soldier had pissed off. How the guy reacted to the suggestion would tell him a lot.

"Nope. I volunteered. First time in my career. Be grateful." If he had had only human senses, he would have missed the quiet mutter after it, the one the soldier thought was hidden safely behind mask and uniform. "Never thought I'd miss being told to fuck off."

"And you're still out there," he pointed out dryly.

"Oh fuck it." To his surprise, the soldier walked over to the revolving airlock into the containment chamber. "I'm coming in, OK? Don't kill me." The last three words were muttered behind the gas mask, and he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear them. In the silence of the cell he could hear the man's breathing, his heartrate. Were the black uniforms only human?

For a supposed team-mate, the soldier seemed nervous, but he was still standing in the cylinder as it revolved, depositing him in the cell with no glass between them. The increased heart rate as the man stepped cautiously into the cell confirmed it: Human. Breathing, pulse racing, and not like him at all. He watched, disappointed, as the soldier slung his rifle over his back and held out his gloved but empty hands.

"See? No weapons." He did not reply, simply raised an eyebrow, folded his arms and glowered.

"You're scared."

"Yeah. If you have a flashback right now, I'm dead."

"Flashbacks?" He scowled. If the soldier was worried about his memories returning, maybe they weren't on good terms. The soldier leaned back against the glass.

"PTSD? You got blown up, remem-oh." The soldier's cringe was actually amusing. "Look, combat flashbacks are a risk. You're the deadliest thing on this base, and if you seriously wanted out the containment wouldn't hold you." Now that was useful info.

"That's why the floor is filled with nerve gas." He waited for the soldier's reaction. There was no panic, just a brash confidence he could hear in the voice.

"You're immune. They don't know that." The soldier might be lying, but that sounded like something a member of his unit might know. "I'm covered in the stuff and you're fine." He stepped forward, poked a finger at the soldier's shoulder as the man flinched. There was a faint prickling sensation, but nothing more. He ignored it, along with the soldier's faint mutter of "Jeez, forgot how goddamn _fast-_ " as he stepped away again.

"How fast? Outrun bullets?" he drawled, trying not to look like he was fishing.

"I've seen you- ah shit, can't say." The soldier looked genuinely frustrated. "You're on my squad, you saved my life twice, I owe you. Hell, I'd feel better if you'd tell me to fuck off again. Business as usual, you know?" He chuckled, feeling the unfamiliar noise low in his chest.

"I'm not sure what usual is, but it's got to be better than this." The soldier actually laughed, relaxed slightly.

"Oh hell yeah. You charge in, we shoot what's left."

"And save your ass."

"We hold our own."

"Yeah, sure." He found himself relaxing, something about this familiar. It wasn't the words, but the smell of gunsmoke, cordite and sweat, the odour of kevlar and armour. The faint crackle of radio static from the man's helmet and belt. This close it was obvious the soldier was human. But if humans were unaffected by the toxin -

"So why the mask?"

"Because you're-" A voice cut in over the soldier's earpiece. He heard it quite clearly. 'Incoming. Two minutes.' The soldier tensed, looked at him and the exit. "I-" He moved instantly, getting between the man and the airlock before the soldier could even turn.

"Let. Me. Out." There was nothing friendly in this. The man held empty hands up, a gesture that said he was defenceless and meant absolutely nothing.

"Getting out now, while you can't tell friend from foe-"

"Then tell me," he growled, hand reaching out to grab - he stopped dead, staring at the claws. He hadn't meant to extend them. Forcing his hand down, ignoring the tremors running through his arm, he took a step back, then another. He turned his back as the instinct to kill warred with common sense. Something told him that he just needed to strike the man down for answers, but if the soldier was dead, how could he say anything? He heard the soldier swallow, taking a trembling breath. He could hear the heart rate pick up behind him. Blood and pain and hunger rose and he quashed them ruthlessly.

"I only want one word from you." His voice grated. "The name of your squad." There was a pause, stretching as the soldier's orders to tell him nothing warred with survival instinct. The word was barely breathed, and if he hadn't been straining his hearing to catch the breath behind the mask he would have missed it.

"Wiseman." No memory came to him, but the voices he had heard thought this soldier was an obstacle. A possible ally then? Far more useful on the outside than if he ate him and walked out looking like - what the hell? He could do that? There was no time.

"Go." He cut the soldier off. No point losing an ally for a biosuit. The man rushed towards the airlock, almost jumping into the containment cylinder. As the lock began to shut, a tentacle whipped out, snatched the second radio off the back of the soldier's belt and hauled it inside his arm before the target noticed.

The exit began its slow rotation with the soldier rigid, tapping a finger against his leg nervously as his eyes watched the exit. The moment the door opened, before it had even finished, the man was moving, flinging himself into the chair behind the desk and examining the console with every pretence of industriousness.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. He walked to the front of the containment area, tried to see if he could see any of the console controls reflected in the soldier's goggles but with no luck. As the room's door opened, the soldier stood up and snapped a salute to the grey-haired Captain he was beginning to actively loathe.

"Private. Your orders were to maintain total isolation for the foreseeable future." The words brought him straight to the front of the glass.

"What?" His exclamation was genuine. "You can't be serious!"

"Sir, investigating reports of anomolous readings, Sir!" The Captain looked sceptical, one hand on his side-arm.

"Cause for concern?" Ignored, he snarled under his breath, claws sliding out. If he could get through that glass, the Captain wouldn't survive the draw.

"Sir, no sir! Monitoring glitch, sir!"

"Then get back to your post."

"Sir, yes sir!" Without a look back, the soldier left. A final check round the room and the Captain walked out, the huge door sliding closed behind him. Their voices faded down the corridor, leaving him with too many questions. What had the soldier been going to say. He was contagious? He was infectious? The word seemed familiar. More, it felt right.

As they left, dimming the lights again, he settled back down in his corner. He had seen where the Captain looked, and the hesitation before the officer had said nothing and left. Accidentally or on purpose, his visitor had left his cell unlocked.

###

 _"The debate is beginning. All targets are in position."_

 _"And our assets?"_

 _"Honourably occupied in their home states. Plan is ready to commence on your signal."_

 _"Launch in thirty minutes."_

 _"Target acquisition confirmation."_

 _"Capitol."_


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

An open airlock and toxins he was immune to. This was too convenient. He wasn't going to rush his plans to use them. Even if it wasn't a trap, getting out of the cell was pointless if he couldn't get through the foot-thick steel door to the room. Claws wouldn't cut the metal, and there were too many bullets between him and the helipad for an easy out. He didn't even know where the helicopters were yet. 'Up' was a good guess.

The unlocked airlock was his best bet, but it was slow and the faint puff of air inwards each time it was opened indicated negative pressure. If the airlock was full of the toxin, not the entire floor, escaping through the cell wall might still be better. Examining the cracked glass of the cell, he knew he could be through it in a few claw strikes, but the instant he made his move they would know and there were two more layers before he even got to the door.

Inside his torso, tentacles examined his new toy. Military radio, multiple channels, custom model. He knew this, felt it familiar. The tentacles had settled it without his conscious direction, encased it in thick cells to prevent the sound being heard outside him, eardrum against the muted earpiece, a crude mouth and vocal chords by the speaker.

The cage wasn't a perfect Farra…Faraday cage. The word came up from his subconscious, a memory slipping through his fingers as he tried to grasp it. As he hoped, the radio crackled into life by the weakspot. All channels live, all potentially monitored, but even if he could follow six conversations at once the little machine could only pick up one. He sat back in his corner, trying to listen in to the rest of the base as inside him he cycled through radio channels for something of interest.

 _"It remains unknown how much control it has over separated sections."_

 _"What it doesn't know…"_ There was a smugness to the voice, a smirk he wanted to wipe off along with the face wearing it.

 _"But the hivemi-"_

 _"Shut up."_ Cold fury echoed. _"Don't ever use that word by the samples or the subject."_ A mechanical voice cut in before that interesting conversation could continue.

 _"Drone fuelling complete, ready to deploy on schedule."_

 _"Launch window?"_ And the voice was smooth and unruffled again.

 _"Twenty-four minutes to launch. Payload attachment underway."_ What the hell? Payloads? Was this the virus they'd been talking about? He stood up, starting to pace as the radio finally found something useful.

"This isn't right. He should be snarling at everything, you know, being a generally anti-social bastard."

"Two years ago, you'd have prayed he was this mellow." That voice he knew even over a radio. The Captain?

"Two years ago, he was a terrorist." What? He stopped dead. The conversation carried on.

"Yeah but taking on..." The voice broke off coughing. "I mean it's not a good mission without the whole team. We need -"

"Reinforcements are available." The soldier was edging around something but the Captain cut him off, frustrated, tired, and far too human.

"Forget it, Winder. The mission's a wash. We're not going to get any of their top guys near him, and he wouldn't know what to do with them if we did. They're feeding me a line of shit."

"Why's he still alive then?"

"They've got a plan."

"That's bad news."

"No shit. These guys tried to nuke a civilian population-" in his cell, he grimaced. Well, at least he definitely knew the bad guys now. "-and now they have a virus. Bringing him here-"

"Can you think of anywhere else to get him patched up?" He leaned against the glass, stunned. They'd brought him here? Who did he trust? The green uniforms called him 'it'. The black ones called him 'he'. Or he should just use one against the other. Either he could break out to try to stop these bastards, or let someone else do it. It was a simple matter to reshape a mouth by the radio and start to relay the overheard discussion about drones, voice for voice.

"Who is this?" The Captain snapped. Through the cell's glass he heard more. _"That discussion never happened near an open mic."_ The next voice he knew too well, heard through the walls not the transmission.

 _"Sir, my radio."_ They'd made him.

 _"How the hell would he get your radio, Private?"_ The Captain sounded furious. He scowled, transmitted using his own voice before the soldier could answer.

"Doesn't matter. I know their plan. You know my memories. Trade," he bluffed. There was a pause, a silence in which he heard nothing, and then the Captain's terse response.

"I'll be down in an hour."

"Make it faster." He paused. Trust was hard, but five thousand lives lost in minutes was not something he wanted on his conscience. "They are launching a viral bio-weapon in twenty minutes by drone." He lied, he guessed, and he didn't care. He wanted his memories. He expected them to dismiss or correct him, not -

"Wisemen, we move on Red Crown. _Now._ "

The radio cut out, leaving silence as he paged through the channels. Had he made a mistake? Without memories, who the hell could he trust? Then he smiled. Even without memories, if they betrayed him, who couldn't he kill?

###

 _"Payloads mounted."_

 _"Drone systems online. Control programming and directions preloaded. Launch in fifteen."_

 _"Legislative change in progress, gentleman. Well done."_

 _"And our remaining assets? We don_ ' _t need conflicting narratives."_

 _"Clean up will begin simultaneous with launch."_


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The door hissed open and the Captain hurried in, throwing his gloves on the console as the lights came up. Inside the cell he waited, tense, one hand on the glass already shifted into claws. The officer strode up to him, faced him through the glass.

"We're out of time. You want your memories back?"

"Yeah," he snapped. "Stop holding out on me."

"How much have you lost? The last mission?"

"How about starting with who the hell you are?" The Captain froze, only for an instant.

"Years." The officer scowled, his expression coldly calculating. "No time. I let you out, you fight, I'll fill in the gaps."

"No deal," he snapped, not even sure he'd trust what the man told him. This had been a mistake.

"I can tell you, but they won't be pleasant."

"They're my memories. I have a right to know," he insisted angrily. The Captain met his gaze, seemed to be judging him.

"Then I can tell you everything you need to know about _Penn Station._ " The last words were hurled at him, and he reeled. Grabbing his head, he doubled over as the pain hit. A flood of images, disorientation, and with it memory. He clung to the flashes of his past, remembered bullets and pain, tried to ride out the confusion. As the tide receded he looked up, teeth bared in a snarl. It was what the Captain had been waiting for.

"Hope, Idaho was the first test." He growled, fist striking the plexiglass, cracking it as memories rushed in, not his, a child, not his. Deaths, so many deaths, but he knew he had never been there.

"You bastard!" he cursed, tried to raise his head. The Captain was walking up and down in front of the cage, watching him for the right moment, the measured voice speaking from his left this time. He fought the urge to cover his ears. He was stronger than that.

"Captain Taggart is our ticket onto the Reagan." White. Fire. Pain. He screamed.

###

 _"Sir, Blacklight's active."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Two samples have destroyed their test tubes. The Lab level is being evacuated."_

 _"Seal it off."_

 _"Sir, it'_ _s all gone berserk. Even the samples in the payloads, Sir."_

 _"Check on Containment."_

 _"Monitoring is out, sir."_

 _"Dammit. It's Cross! Get a team down there_ _,_ _now."_

###

The door blew in. The Captain reached for his side-arm too slow as the tazer hit him. He was stunned just long enough for an arm to loop round his neck and he was pulled away from the glass, struggling as the marines piled on him. Drawing a breath, he managed a last shout.

"You're not Alex Mercer-" and then a padded arm was shoved across his mouth to silence him as they jabbed the tazer into the side of his neck. He spasmed, and went limp, his body refusing to answer him. The sound of a rifle safety being flipped off was loud, blurred eyes blinking helplessly as the marine stood back and swung the weapon up to aim for centre mass, and they heard the quiet, furious, voice.

"...I'm the virus." The soldiers turned, too late. The six-foot blade shattered glass.

###

_"Sir, the Blacklight_ _payload_ s _are dying. Induced necrosis."_

 _"What the fuck? Evacuate!"_

 _"That's premature, surely-"_

 _"If it knows where Blacklight is, it knows where we are. Full sterilisation."_

_"_ _S_ _ir, we've be_ _en_ _locked out of the systems."_

_"_ _Asset D. Detonate the servers and evacuate. Now_ _!"_

###

Detwiller hit the door release, rolled through into cover and a firing position as Winder followed. Captain Cross was leaning against the console, a bleeding gash on his head and one hand pressing a torn scrap of camo to it. The rest of the room was an abattoir, blood splashed up the walls, bullet cases on the ground. The computers were smashed, plexiglass shards covering the floor. There were no bodies.

"Sir?" Detwiller asked cautiously, hoping Cross would answer. The hair on the back of his neck raised. Leaning insouciantly against the broken glass, a hooded figure was watching them. Its head was lowered, hiding its face in shadow. Only icy blue eyes caught the light.

"Progress on retaking the base?" the Captain asked, straightening up, one hand still keeping pressure on the wound.

"Almost complete, sir. The last members of Red Crown are making a fighting retreat to the helipad." There was a crunch as the hooded shape stepped forward, glass fragments splintering underfoot, and moved impossibly fluidly towards the door. Detwiller moved away, instinctively giving it space. It had been almost human there in the cell towards the end. That was gone now, pure predator, but he couldn't help it. He had to know.

"Mercer?" The figure paused in the doorway, raised its head. Inhuman eyes locked on his. The side of the mouth moved oddly in the impassive face, one corner raising slightly, before it spoke.

"Fuck off, Detwiller."


End file.
